


All you gotta do is ask.

by rosmarine



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Telepathy, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 11:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11485647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosmarine/pseuds/rosmarine
Summary: It’s not so bad, juggling the constant stream of six teenagers talking over each other in your brain. Until one day when Jeremy accidentally announces that he wants to have Michael Mell’s children after Michael brings him a box of Taco Bell.After the play incident, Jeremy and everyone else who was squipped have to live with each others voices inside their heads.





	All you gotta do is ask.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so basically i know very little about the actual musical but i have read the book!! the book is marvelous. so pls forgive any errors in canon. these characters are not mine. thanks for reading!

 

In the chaotic aftermath of the play, Jeremy sleeps for twelve hours straight.

He wakes up in the middle of the night, his sheets soaked with sweat. The ghost of flames lick at his bedroom walls and there are voices buzzing.

_What’s going on?_

_Where am I?_

_Pickles, get off the bed!_

_QUIET!_

Jeremy’s exhausted mind can’t formulate a thought.

 _Uhm_ , comes Rich’s unmistakable voice, _sorry about that._

The voices in Jeremy’s head erupt.

#

There’s really no way to juggle the constant stream of six people constantly talking over each other in your head.

Jeremy adjusts to falling asleep to chatter and learning uncomfortable secrets. It makes him feel normal, thank god, knowing that Jenna still tends to her neopets account and Chloe accidentally let her cat Pickles drink from her bath water.

“It’s the squip,” says Brooke, “it must’ve been. If the six of us are suddenly–– _telepathic_ , after we all had supercomputers take over our brains, it must’ve been the squip.” They’re helping Christine put away chairs after a rehearsal. It feels like the room is packed to the brim, but in reality, there are only six of them wrestling chairs backstage––Chloe, Brooke, Christine, Rich, Jake, and Jenna. And Jeremy, of course, but he usually forgets to include himself.

“Bullshit,” says Rich. He grunts, looping his arms around two chairs and hefting them up. “I wasn’t even there that night. And mine’s gone. Abso-fucking-lutely, 100 por ciento, totally gone.”

Jeremy winces as the legs of the chair scrape against the cement floor. The room still smells like hot pockets.

 _Then why are we like this?_ Jeremy asks. It’s a strange feeling, and everyone in the room lets out a groan.

“Software glitch?” asks Christine. She climbs to the top of the pile of chairs and sits, looking down at him. Since none of them can come up with a better answer, they call it quits. The squip is easy to blame when it's not around.

When the last chair’s in place, Chloe stretches her arms over her head. “Let’s all get fro-yo to celebrate!”

“Celebrate what?” asks Brooke.

“Not being a zombie. What else?” The group herds themselves towards the door. Jeremy stays back, pretending to fumble with his backpack’s zipper. They’re all friends with each other, they were before the stupid squip incident. Jeremy doesn’t belong, not really. He’d be surprised if Chloe had even meant to extend the invitation to him.

“Jeremy, are you coming?” Jeremy glances up. Everyone else has left but him and Chloe. Part of him wants to say yes, but he’s already exhausted.

“I’m not really hungry,” says Jeremy, “but, uhm, do you mind giving me a ride?”

He gives Chloe the address to Michael’s house.

#

Jeremy can never concentrate in math. It doesn’t help that he sits right in front of Michael and the teacher has given up on life, forcing the class to do group work while she surfs the internet. Okay, Jeremy knows Ms. Mueller probably isn’t surfing the internet. She’s probably answering very important emails. But it’s a Friday afternoon, during a rare time when Ms. Mueller is actually standing up against the whiteboard, marker in hand, words coming out of her mouth.

Jeremy’s hands clench against the table.

Words he can’t listen to, because there is a very _different_ soundtrack coming out of his head.

 _Come on, baby. Just like that._ It’s Jake.

 _Oh my god_ , groans Chloe, _what is going on?_

 _Well,_ says Jenna, _Jake just excused himself from History._

The conversation continues. Jeremy shifts his focus to Ms. Mueller, but he can’t make out anything she’s saying. He starts shaking his leg. His brain feels like it’s going to explode.

_Aww, Jake, your hands are so soft. Did you moisturize for me?_

_Oh, yeah,_ says Jenna, _Rich left, too._

There’s a beat of silence.

 _The male ego is so fragile,_ says Christine. _No offense, Jer._

 _None taken,_ he says. Jeremy starts counting the number of calculus books on the shelf across the room.

“Dude, what’s wrong?” It takes Jeremy a moment to realize it’s Michael, whispering. Michael leans forwards across his desk, about three centimeters away from resting his chin on Jeremy’s shoulder. Jeremy would like that, he realizes, and his heart starts to pound its way out of his chest.

“Nothing.” He hears Michael shift back behind him. It makes him feel––empty, like an opportunity has been lost.

_Baby, I want you so bad. For so long_

_Yeah, just like that._

Jeremy’s entire blood supply rushes to his face. He wants to close his eyes, shut it out, but that would only make it worse.

_I’ve dreamt about you._

Jeremy is wildly uncomfortable. It’s an odd concoction of feeling intrusive and turned on and a little bit––

 _Jealous,_ his mind supplies.

 _What was that?_ Asks Jenna.

Well, shit. A warm weight drops onto his shoulder and Jeremy jerks away. It’s Michael’s hand, and Jeremy lurches forwards in his seat. He glances back at Michael, who’s avoiding eye contact and worrying his lip between his teeth.

Jeremy _has_ to say something, to banish the look of hurt from his friend’s face, such obvious pain.

“Jeremy?” asks Ms. Mueller. Oh, god. Considering Jeremy doesn’t even have his notes open, of course Ms. Mueller calls on him to solve the overly complicated equation on the board.

 _So,_ he asks silently, _anyone good at calculus?_

#

It’s weird when Jeremy helps Christine compose a letter about Mr. Reyes while sitting alone in his house, eating pop tarts. Brooke ends up coming in clutch when Rich and Jeremy are taking a Chemistry exam. She knows a startling amount about isotopes and cross-dimensional analysis.

After a few weeks, that sort themselves out and it’s almost nice. Jeremy has people who he can be himself around, because he can’t pretend to be anyone else.

Jeremy and Christine meet after school to practice her lines. After Mr. Reyes fainted from screaming at Jeremy so intently, Jeremy is surprised he’s allowed back in the school’s auditorium.

Jeremy likes talking out loud. It makes him feel normal. Well, as normal as he can be.

“You know,” says Christine, “I’ve had livelier conversations in the past two weeks than I’ve had in my entire life.”

“Really? Was it the one about pop tarts? Because honestly, those commercials are messed up.”

Christine laughs. Jeremy wants to record the sound and listen to it on repeat for the rest of his life.

“You haven’t said anything to Michael, have you?”

“No. What would I even say? ‘Hey, buddy, you know that supercomputer that tried to make me take over humanity and I almost let it? Well, it’s helping me mind meld with our squad.’”

Somewhere, Brooke tells Chloe how good she looks in a metallic bodycon dress.

 _Yeah, Chlo_ , Jeremy adds, _you’d look killer in anything._

Next to him, Christine sighs. She scribbles a note on the page.

“I think we need to make a rule,” she says. It’s aloud, just between the two of them.

Jeremy scuffs his foot against the ground. “Okay, what?”

“Don’t hit on us, Jeremy. We’re stuck with each other, and it’s not cool.”

“But Jake and Rich––”

“Are best friends,” Christine interrupts, “and they’re different. They’re good for each other. They deserve each other.”

Jeremy’s head drops. “Yeah. I got it."

Jeremy’s phone buzzes, and a picture of Michal in a snapback flashes across the screen. The text reats, _I parked in the back lot_.

It buzzes him again. This time, it’s a picture of Michael holding up a box of Taco Bell and giving the camera a thumbs-up.

“I'm gonna marry him,” he mutters, and he accidentally thinks it, too.

He grabs his bag, jumping to his feet, ignoring the onslaught of _Who’s ‘him’, Jeremy?_

He looks up, up into Christine’s eyes. She’s smiling. They haven’t even finished the scene.

“Go get your man,” she says, and she ruffles Jeremy’s hair. “Let us know if you need anything, okay?”

 _Chyeah_ , says Chloe. _I’ve got condoms!_

 _Thank you kindly,_ says Jeremy, _but no._ His converse slap against the halls of the school. He breaks into a run. Suddenly, he shoulders through the back door, out of breath. The sun blinds him and when the light dims he sees––Michael, sitting on the hood of his car, munching on a double Chalupa.

“Michael!” Jeremy runs across the parking lot and launches himself, throwing his arms around Michael in a hug.

“Whoa there, Romeo, I got enough for two of us.” Michael hugs him back and Jeremy’s eyes start to tickle. There are waves crashing inside of him, and he’s waiting for the tide to break.

Everything about Michael is soft and warm. He and Michael traded pokemon cards in first grade and still have bi-weekly sleepovers. Michael took him back.

After an eternity, Jeremy pulls away. When they hug, Michaels is always the last to let go. How has Jeremy never noticed?

Michael raises an eyebrow.

“You look like a wet sock,” he says. “What was up in Calculus today?”

Jeremy grins, ignoring the pain.

“Nothing wronger than usual.”

Michael pulls out a wrapped burrito and hands it over to Jeremy. Jeremy’s standing close enough to brush against Michael’s knees. He steps back.

“So should I ask about your girl?” says Michael.

Jeremy’s grin turns genuine.

“No. I mean, yes. I mean––” Jeremy's stomach rumbles, interrupting him. He unwraps the burrito and shoves half of it into his mouth. Jesus––his eyes flutter shut. When they open, he can’t read Michael’s expression.

 _He’s turned on,_ says Christine. Jeremy inhales beans.

He coughs violently. Michael slaps a fist against his back.

“Christine and I are actually friends! It’s great!”

Michael’s face lights up. “That’s amazing! Are you going to take things slow after the squip fiasco?”

“Oh, I’m not interested in her like that. Too complicated.”

Jeremy takes another bite of the burrito. The fatty flavor of guacamole coats his tongue.

“Hey, did you get anything to drink?” he asks, looking at Michael.

Michael disappears into the car and re-emerges with a jumbo cup.

“Tropical Lemonade, buddy.”

“You get me, Michael.” Their fingers brush when Michael hands him the drink. And if Michael’s hands are cold and clammy, Jeremy blames it on the lemonade.

#

It’s dark. Jeremy rolls out of bed, onto the floor, and dry heaves.

_Please––I––_

His head pounds.

 _What can we do, Brooke?_ It’s Christine’s clear voice.

 _I can’t––_ the voice is garbled, like a CD player running on the last of its juice.

 _Where is she?_ Says Christine. _Something’s wrong._

 _Does she has a fake ID?_ Asks Jake.

 _No. They scare her,_ says Jeremy. _Where are the others?_

 _Who the fuck knows?_ Says Jake.

 _I’m here,_ says Jeremy. _What’s wrong?_

 _Brooke’s in trouble,_ says Christine. _If she’s drunk and we’re all squipped, something could go seriously wrong._ Jake and Christine are in Vermont on a Spanish field trip.

Jeremy grabs his house keys, wallet, and phone.

 _Where is she?_ His mind floods with the pain of blurred vision. He stumbles into something sharp. It’s the corner of the wall.

He dials Michael’s number, praying he picks up, or else Jeremy’s going to have to steal his dad’s car.

Michael answers, his voice rough from sleep “Jeremy?”

“Michael! Please, can you help me?”

“Of course. What’s up?”

 _Keith’s throwing a party tonight,_ says Jake.

“You're going to hate me for this,” says Jeremy.

#

“Take the next left.”

“Oh, sure, Jeremy. By the way, are you gonna tell me where the hell we’re going at two in the goddamn morning?” Jeremy swallows thickly.

“Brooke’s too drunk to function and we’re picking her up from a party. Straight at the light.”

The light turns yellow, then red, and the car screeches to a halt.

Jeremy doesn’t have to tell Michael which house to pull up to. There’s music blaring, and every light is on inside. Michael shifts the car into park.

This isn’t right. Jeremy glances down. Michael’s still in his Legend of Zelda pajama pants, and his knuckles are white against the steering wheel.

“Michael,” says Jeremy, “you can wait in here if you want. It should only be a minute. She’s my friend, this is my mess.”

Jeremy is lying through his teeth. Of course he is––he’s a scrawny kid and has the vaguest idea of where Brooke is. It’s going to take more than a minute. It’s probably going to take, like, a hundred minutes. But hey, Michael has his 3DS in here somewhere.

Michael unbuckles his seatbelt. “Nah, man. I’d never let you go in there alone.” He kills the engine. “Two-player game, remember?” He holds out his hand, and Jeremy stares at it a moment before slapping it.

They trek through the lawn. Michael’s hair is a rat’s nest, and he wears the expression of a man heading off to war.

 _No,_ says Jake. _Go around back. Side door’s never locked._

“This way,” says Jeremy. Michael follows.

Jeremy kicks open the rickety door. Inside are enough people to give the fire department a heart attack. Jeremy steps inside. Michael doesn’t.

“Michael?” he asks.

“I––uhm…” Michael swalls. His shoulders are hunched around his chin. “This brings back bad memories.”

Jeremy can’t look Michael in the eyes. He grabs Michael’s hand.

“Does this help?”

Michael nods, and they move in unison, snaking through the crowd.

_Brooke, where are you?_

Jeremy’s head pounds to the beat of the music, and he bumps into a solidly built boy with a solo cup.

 _Try the kitchen,_ thinks Christine. _Clear the ground floor first, then bedroom._

“Hey, watch where you’re going, dickcheese!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t––”

 _No way,_ shouts Jake. _All the weird shit happens in the bedrooms._

Michael tugs at his sleeve. “Jeremy, i think i stepped in a pool of vomit.”

 _But the ground floor is where all the alcohol is,_ says Christine, _and he’ll waste time going up and down stairs._

_Not that much time, Juliet._

_Stop it, you’re confusing him._

_No,_ you’re _confusing him!_

“ENOUGH!” Jeremy's chest heaves up and down. Two girls glance at him and leave the kitchen.

“Oh, sorry Jeremy.” Michael radiates hurt and Jeremy caused it.

_Michael's with you? Split up!_

“No,” says Jeremy.

_Hurry, before something happens. Before the squip does something._

Jeremy spins around. His hands flit from Michael’s hand to cup his face.

“Michael,” he says, willing his voice not to shake, “we’d cover more ground by splitting up.”

All of the color drains from Michael’s face. He bites his lip, and he nods.

“Let’s do it,” he says. Regret ricochets around Jeremy’s head.

Jeremy regrets it. He regrets waking Michael up in the middle of the night, dragging him into his nightmare 2.0. Jeremy regrets blocking Michael, yelling at him, attacking him where Jeremy knew it would hurt the most. Jeremy regrets having been born.

But  most of all, he regrets kissing Michael.

Because Jeremy does it. In the kitchen of a high school party neither of them should be at, standing next to bottles of tequila and a brita filter, with the noise of Eminem and the ringing of voices pounding in his ears.

Jake and Christine are shouting at him. Jeremy shuts them off.

Michael has morning breath. Michael‘s hands tighten around Jeremy’s waist. Michael closes the gap between the two of them, and Jeremy can feel the jackhammering of Michael’s heart through his shirt. For a tender moment, everything is Michael.

And then Jeremy hears, _those motherfuckers threw me down the basement stairs._

Michael and Jeremy race through the ground floor, pulling open doors. Closet, closet, study––basement. They descend the stairs in leaps.

They tumble onto the landing, and Jeremy’s converse smack against cold cement. The only source of light is from––candles?

It takes a second for Jeremy to process.

Brooke’s slumped over in a chair. She’s surrounded by two girls on the women’s basketball team, a football player and a short guy from Jeremy’s english class, who is clutching a book.

“What the fuck?” says Michael.

“Shit,” says the blonde basketball player, “we forgot to lock the door.”

Brooke’s head lolls to the side, and her hair covers her face. Brooke starts laughing. Jeremy flinches––it’s the loudest laugh Jeremy has ever heard.

 _Jesus,_ thinks Jeremy, _her squip must be going haywire._

“Begone, demon!” says the kid holding the book, raising it over his head. The light catches on the gold cross emblazoned on the cover.

“You’re exorcising Brooke?” asks Jeremy.

“She was saying stuff,” says the tallest girl. “Impossible stuff, about people who were dying and astrological phenomena and––and, she started speaking in Japanese!”

Jeremy’s chest heaves up and down. “She’s drunk!”

“That was not drunk.”

Jeremy glances at Michael. His hands are clenched in fists at his sides.

“Libraricide?” says Jeremy.

“Bring it on,” says Michael.

They pounce. Jeremy knees the tallest girl in the stomach. She crumples. A fist connects with Jeremy’s face.

 _Suzanne’s got a bad ankle,_ says Christine. _Step on her right foot._

Jeremy plants his foot on her instep and throws his shoulder into her chest. She loses her balance, groaning. She swipes at Jeremy and they both tumble. Suzanne wraps an arm around Jeremy’s neck an. Michael’s foot crashes down on her chest and she gasps, letting go. Jeremy springs to his feet.

The football player has michael pushed up against the wall. Red clouds Jeremy’s vision.

“Shouldn’t you be playing video games in your basement, nerd?” the guy asks. Michael’s glasses are skewed. Veins pop are from his forehead.

 _Jeremy, you can’t kill Ollie in this basement,_ says Jake. _But he’s ticklish._

Jeremy lunges, tickling Ollie’s ribcage. Ollie breaks out into laughter and Michael pushes him away.

 _Hey guys_ , thinks Jeremy, _can we try something?_

“You will leave her alone,” says Jeremy, “or you won’t see another sunrise.” He channels the voices of Christina and Jake, like he’s something out of a B-horror movie.

Every person in the room looks like they’re about to wet themselves.

“Michael,” says Jeremy in his normal voice, "could you give me a hand with Brooke?”

#

Michael keeps Mountain Dew Code Red in his car. Brooke chugs the entire bottle and lets out a burp that would make a lumberjack blush.

Jeremy sits next to her in the backseat and gives Michael directions to her house.

Brooke pouts. “I can’t hear you guys anymore,” she says. “I miss you.”

 _Tell her we miss her too_ , says Christine.

Jeremy glances up, catching Michael’s stare in the rearview mirror.

“Uhm,” says Jeremy, his voice low, “Christine says she misses you too.”

“I miss always having Chloe around! I miss Jenna’s gossip! I miss awkwardly hearing you decide whether or not to take Michael’s last namel!”

Christine and Jake are losing it.

“Jesus, Brooke––” says jeremy.

“It’s cute! You’re like a little lawnmower. No? Puppy. Following him around.”

“The caffeine from the Mountain Dew must’ve kicked in,” says Michael.

Brooke keeps going. “I know we keep telling you to shut up about the curve of Michael’s lips and, like, how he gives the best hugs and how you guys sometimes get high and shotgun it, but it’s actually a-dork-able, Jer.”

Oh god.

“Brooke,” says Jeremy, “please shut up! It’s not just us!”

“But it’s so romantic! You _love_ ––”

Jeremy slams a hand over Brooke’s mouth. Her lips are tacky from pink gloss.

For a second, the earth ceases to move.

“We’re here,” says Michael.

Brooke’s car door opens and Michael’s head pops into view.

“We should wake up her parents,” he says, slinging an arm around her. Jeremy tries to shoo away the pang of jealousy he feels as Brooke cuddles into Michael’s side.

 _Why do boys have such small brains,_ says Christine.

Together, he and Michael maneuver Brooke to her front door. Michael leans against the doorbell, pressing it for a solid three minutes. Jeremy knows because he has nothing better to do than count the seconds when Brooke is mercifully quiet. A groggy looking woman in a floral print bathrobe opens the door. Light spills out from behind her.

“Brooke?” she asks.

“There was a party, Ma’am,” says Michael. The woman nods, and Brooke stumbles inside. Jeremy catches a glimpse of a crystal chandelier and dark photo frames lining the wall.

“You two are good kids,” says the woman. She shuts the door.

#

The car ride back to Jeremy’s house is thick with tension. The dashboard clock reads 3:14 and Jeremy keeps running the conversation he needs to have through his head, pausing, rewriting the lines.

_Michael, the kiss doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to._

_Michael, I’m straight but I really like it when we hold hands._

_Michael, I love you, let’s run away together raise penguins in Alaska._

_Alaska is a fucking wasteland,_ says Rich. _What’d I miss?_

_Brooke told Michael that I’m desperately in love with him._

_You already kissed him,_ says Jake. _What’s the big deal?_

_There’s a difference between kissing someone at a party and deliberating whether or not you’re going to wear matching tuxes at your wedding._

_Come on,_ says Christine, _let’s give him some headspace._

Without them, Jeremy’s head feels like it’s filled with fuzz. He almost wishes they were back to distract him from the anxiety gripping his chest. His stomach churns as they turn onto his street. It seems like half a second before michael’s pulled into his driveway.

No, Jeremy thought he’d have more time. His heart needs another moment to stop beating its way out of his chest.

Jeremy inhales.

“Michael, what Brooke said––”

“Dude,” says Michael, “let’s talk about it, I don’t know, about ten years from now.”

Michael hugs him, burying his face into Jeremy’s shoulder. They’re both twisted awkwardly over the stick shift but the pain is bearable.

“I don’t get it,” Jeremy mumbles, his lips brushing the shell of Michael’s ear. “You were the biggest proponent of me and Christine dating. You used to harmonize when I sang her name.”

Michael shrugs. Jeremy can feel it. “I can’t put myself in between you and what you want. What kind of bro would I be?”

“Will you be my boyfriend?” says Jeremy. And for the first time in what feels like an eternity, Michael’s pressed up against him and his stomach isn’t doing somersaults. He’s calm, because at this point, he knows there’s only one answer.

“Yes,” says Michael, “on one condition.”

Jeremy’s heart leaps to his throat. “What?”

Michael pulls back. He waves a pointer finger in Jeremy’s face. “We’ve gotta be honest with each other! You and Brooke said some weird stuff. You owe me an explanation.”

“Don’t freak out, Michael.”

“Because all of the most reasonable explanations are preceded by the words ‘don’t freak out’.”

“There’s a telepathic connection between me and everyone who got squipped at the play. And Rich is here, too.”

 _Yo_ , says Rich.

Michael is silent. The moment stretches on like taffy.

“So,” Michael says, “is it like you’re all forced to be in an eternal group chat?”

“Yeah, they’re all pretty much agreeing.”

Michael slings an arm around Jeremy’s seat. “Well I’m jealous.”

“Trust me,” says Jeremy, “you don’t have to be. If you want to know what’s going on inside my brain, all you gotta do is ask.”

They kiss again, and again until Jeremy’s left with nothing in his head but the feeling on Michael and the warmth of the rising sun.


End file.
